“I cut my finger she said,” and a moment later, with her back to him, she did cut it, and when Jacques looked at her hand he saw a cloth about the finger, with blood-stain on it.

After that Nanette always watched the floor carefully.

More and more this cabin, with the woman and the baby in it, became a paradise for Miki.  Then came the time when Nanette dared to keep him in the cabin with her all night, and lying close to the precious cradle Miki never once took his eyes from her.  It was late when she prepared for bed.  She changed into a long, soft robe, and then, sitting near Miki, with her bare little feet in the fireglow, she took down her wonderful hair and began brushing it.  It was the first time Miki had seen this new and marvellous garment about her.  It fell over her shoulders and breast and almost to the floor in a shimmering glory, and the scent of it was so sweet that Miki crept a few inches nearer, and whimpered softly.  After she had done brushing it Miki watched her as her slim fingers plaited it into two braids; and then, before she put the light out, a still more curious thing happened.  She went to her bed, made of saplings, against the wall, and from its hiding place under the blankets drew forth tenderly a little ivory Crucifix.  With this in her hands she knelt upon the log floor, and Miki listened to her prayer.  He did not know, but she was asking God to be good to her baby—­the little Nanette in the crib.

After that she cuddled the baby up in her arms, and put out the light, and went to bed; and through all the hours of the night Miki made no sound that would waken them.

In the morning, when Nanette opened her eyes, she found Miki with his head resting on the edge of the bed, close to the baby that was nestled against her bosom.

That morning, as she built the fire, something strange and stirring in Nanette’s breast made her sing.  Le Beau would be away until dark that night, and she would never dare to tell him what she and the baby and the dog were going to do.  It was her birthday.  Twenty-six; and it seemed to her that she had lived the time of two lives!  And eight of those years with The Brute!  But to-day they would celebrate, they three.  All the morning the cabin was filled with a new spirit—­a new happiness.

Years ago, before she had met Le Beau, the Indians away back on the Waterfound had called Nanette “Tanta Penashe” ("the Little Bird”) because of the marvellous sweetness of her voice.  And this morning she sang as she prepared the birthday feast; the sun flooded through the windows, and Miki whimpered happily and thumped his tail, and the baby cackled and crowed, and The Brute was forgotten.  In that forgetfulness Nanette was a girl again, sweet and beautiful as in those days when old Jackpine, the Cree—­ who was now dead—­had told her that she was born of the flowers.  The wonderful dinner was ready at last, and to the baby’s delight Nanette induced Miki to sit on a chair at the table.  He felt foolish there, and he looked so foolish that Nanette laughed until her long dark lashes were damp with tears; and then, when Miki slunk down from the chair, feeling his shame horribly, she ran to him and put her arms around him and pleaded with him until he took his place at the table again.